What is to be of this pestilience
That makes empires tumble like tears
The dust of millenia - fallen ages
Staunches the flow of dawning horizons
While the days crumble as their hours unfold
A sensual swooning - prophetic mocking
As the soils swallow the seeds of the past
Each one of us to his own
Drowning in hallowed solitude
Swallowing the void
The pallid hope revealed at last
"Why should I fret in microcosmic bonds
That chafe the spirit and the mind repress
When through the clouds gleam beckoning beyonds
Whose shining vistas mock man's littleness?"
Throw off those shackles of sufferance
This penance of one thousand ordeals
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